Letting the Imago Go

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. The Lord is my portion,” says my soul,
therefore I will hope in him.” Lamentations 22-24

The night air was surprisingly refreshing when I stepped barefoot onto my cold concrete porch. The light from the living room streamed through the closed storm door behind me, but I was drawn to a light beyond the overhang. Above. The moon. Brilliant and white, it pierced through the inky black sky. It was cool and calming. Clouds, narrow yet with clear definition, were drawn here and there, almost like quilt batting that’s been pulled thin. I let my toes hang off the edge of the porch, my hand on the 8-inch cedar post for …

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The Hurt Place

John 11:35 – If the GIVER of hope wept at the loss of a loved, let us not be ashamed to do so as well.

This was written for those who’ve just been delivered the death blow. The knee-buckling news. I’m beyond this stage of grief at the moment, but my heart is heavy for those who are here, in the place where the only sensation is hurt.

Everything ventured
Nothing gained
Only darkness
Only pain

The hurt place is where
I’m all alone
I just can’t do this
On my own

I can’t be happy
I can’t be brave
Bury me with you
In the grave

My tears will flood
The earth and then
You’ll rise back up
And walk again

When morning comes
You’re still not here
I’ve never felt
This much …

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Her Name was Elinor

The first, and last, time we heard her heart beat.

A little more than two weeks ago, our baby’s tiny body was removed from mine, four weeks after the tiny soul had already flown. While I’ve recovered well physically, the emotional impact will last much longer. If you ran into me at the grocery store, I would tell you I’m fine. And I am. Some days are better than others. Some minutes are better than others. But overall, I’m faring well. I’m focusing on my earthly children, full of life and love and sparkle, and leaning in to my strong, steady husband. Friends and family have given amazing support, and I am blessed.

There are moments, though, that unexpectedly sting. Like yesterday. I was sifting through my closet, in search of something to wear, …

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Grieving Like a Native

Even when I jump on that long, dark train, and take it for a night ride, I know there’s hope in the morning.

More than once this past week, I’ve run into people I either didn’t know, or didn’t know well, who told me they follow my blog. With my recent posts about losing our baby and the aftermath, I’ve drawn quite a bit of attention. And overall, I think it’s a great thing. Why? Because it’s helped other women open up and share their stories. Links have been passed between husband and wife, niece and aunt, mother and daughter, almost always with the encouragement to “Read this. Her story is so inspiring.” Inspiring. Is that what I’m trying to be? Well, it’s better than the alternative, I suppose. It …

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When. She used the word when, not if. “When you deliver your third child, we’ll need to be prepared for a possible transfusion. You lost a lot of blood with that surgery, and we need to be ready if that’s going to be an ongoing issue.” My mind stuck on the “when,” rather than on the large blood loss and possible future complications. I appreciated her optimism. My OB, reassuringly cheerful but professionally somber when appropriate, has always advocated for me to have more children. We enjoy each other’s company, and she knows that when everything gets off to a good start, my body handles pregnancy and childbearing beautifully.

Except this time. This time, I lost my baby at 8.5 weeks, and continued carrying completely unaware, hormones still in full …

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When the sun goes down, the loneliness rises.

I kept wondering when I would cry. From emotional pain, not from physical. The surgery went perfectly. I’m surrounded by family and friends who’ve brought meals, desserts, flowers, cards, and even offers to clean my home. My husband has been my rock and comforter, tending to me with such a gentle nature. I am blessed. And for a long time, from yesterday morning before the surgery, until just half an hour ago, not one tear fell. I felt at peace, and I knew God’s grace was allowing me to focus on physical healing, before licking my raw emotional wounds.

I was not expecting my body to feel this rough. A D&C and laproscopic cystectomy aren’t fun to recover from separately, but together they …

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